Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | The Staff of Annouim |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Michelle Estelle |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | NC-17, Adult-Het |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Passepartout\OFC |
| DESCRIPTION: | Jules and the gang encounter the primal forces of Mother Nature, and have a rollicking playdate with Count Gregory. Passepartout gets the girl. Jules gets a stick. |
| STATUS: | Complete |
Jules swirls and jabs playfully about with the large intricately carved wood staff. Whooshing too near for Rebecca's liking. "Can't you put that cumbersome thing in Passepartout's broom cupboard or something", snips the lovely redhead.
The young man casts his eyes downward and heads off to see if he has better luck with the charming valet.
A distinguished looking man enters the room." Must I accompany you to this meeting with Chatsworth? You know I abhor the loathsome toad." his green eyes flashed and the verbal intonation dripped with disdain.
"It appears Count Gregory is somehow involved in all this." Responds Rebecca.
The sleek dirigible comes to land in an open field. An ornate coach can be seen a few hundred yards off. The couple descends onto the green expanse. Phileas and Rebecca stride across the meadow making their way towards the coach. In the main compartment of the Aurora a lively conversation takes place.
"It is a very evil looking thing, Master Jules. Wicked and cursed, I do not like it. We should burn it now before it kills us all." the wild-eyed valet declares.
"Passepartout, it is only a stick, a bit of wood, a table leg. What harm can it do? ", The young man replies still whirling and playing about the staff. " But, if it makes you feel better I will put it in the broom closet as Rebecca asked.
"With my brooms?? Why must it be with my brooms? Very well if Miss Rebecca said..." Passepartout shakes his head. " I will go into the village and buy some things to prepare supper."
"Passepartout, it is a very long walk to the village," Jules states
"I could use some fresh air, " the man in the striped vest replies " fresh away from that thing" he says under his breath.
Basket in hand the valet journeys off towards the village.
"An artifact? " Phileas raises an eyebrow at Chatsworth "What would Count Gregory want with some druidic artifact?"
"Restoration", quips Chatsworth, "Total and complete restoration of his faculties and the possibility of true immortality."
"Good God, and we have no idea what we are looking for?" exclaims Rebecca.
"Only that the League of Darkness is operating in this area and nothing else..." Chatsworth replies.
The valet has made considerable progress down the road, when the skies begin to darken. The wind roars and whips welts of rain across his face. The countryside is transformed by deluge and thundering fury. Rivulets race down the road towards the steep rocky edge beside it. "Mon Dieu, even when I am gone it curses me, " Passepartout shakes his fist back towards the direction of the Aurora.
Oblivious to the storm outside, Jules still darts about with the staff as if somehow enraptured by it. He has become one in some kind of macabre dance of the spirit. As the slim figure heaves the wooden appendage skyward tilting towards the heavens, a faint green glimmer seems to emanate from it, causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise. This causes him to feel woozy; his grip loosens the staff falls and rolls underneath the cabinetry. Jules collapses on the settee.
Although, the torrents of rain make it nearly impossible to see, the handsome servant can just make out a noise coming from the steep incline off the edge of the road. He moves as best he can his feet sludging and bogging in the murky quagmire-like path. His eyes peer down the slick straight escarpment to find a woman clinging to vines and rocks desperately trying to scale up the side to safety. Beyond her, he can just make out the twisted remains horses and coach. He steadies his legs against an outcropping of rock and reaches down to grasp the struggling victim. Hoisting her up and over, he topples and they roll in a muddy matted mess away from the cliff. "How can I ever thank you enough, Mr.?" the woman inquires, as she wipes the mud from her eyes.
"Passepartout, Jean Passepartout, I believe I may be able to be of some more service." the kind man offers, "I know where you can get cleaned up, and maybe we get you some other clothing?" The petite figure takes a good look at herself, and realizes for the first time that the climb has left her in nothing but her corset and torn pantalets. She laughs and shakes her head at the absurdity of the moment.
"Here I am in a strange country in front of a strange man in nothing but my undergarments. " she spews forth, "But, it seems I am not the only one out of my element. I am Lydia Shrewsbury, my father was English, but I was raised in Ohio. And you are French. How on Earth, did we come to this place and time?"
"I am sure I do not know-" is the kind reply, "Let us get you back, Miss Shoeberry. I think the fall has made you in shock." Together they start the long walk back towards the Aurora. The clouds are breaking and the rain has stopped at last.
A tall thin dark clothed man enters the room and hands a sheathe of papers to the elder head of security. "It seems the League has mistaken some poor bastard's coach for yours, Fogg," Chatsworth states coolly, " Forced it off the road and over a cliff. Perhaps, there is still a chance to find out where they headed next."
The muddy travelers arrive at last. The sun setting behind dirigible brings about a rather majestic ambience, to the already impressive sight of the Aurora in the lush green meadow. "My Lord in Heaven! Maybe I am shock after all, is that an air ship? It seems to be some sort of motorized balloon. How have you stabilized the guidance? Does it run on steam? This is the most fascinating thing I have ever seen." the words fly from her lips in an endless stream.
"Calm down Miss Shoeberry. There will be time for these questions later." Passepartout says in a long drawn out manner.
"Lydia, please call me Lydia." Requests the woman
"Then Miss Lydia, please to board the Aurora. The sun is drying this mud and we are looking like swine in a farmer's pen." the valet exasperates.
Wandering about awestruck by the luxurious appointments inside the dirigible, Lydia is urged to main compartment.
"Master Jules is asleep? I will introduce you when he wakes up. Let me draw you a bath, and I will bring some of Miss Rebecca's clothing." The dark eyed man says in a soothing tone.
"Master ??" Lydia says barely audible. Then flashes a perplexed look towards the man.
"Jules? Jules? JULES!" Rebecca shakes the young man into consciousness.
"Sorry, I must have dozed off. But, I don't remember laying down," answers Verne, he looks at his hands they are covered in a mottled green residue, "Best be washing these off" Jules heads towards the back of the gondola . "What have you gotten all over your hands? " asks Phileas, "it looks as though you've taken up finger painting with creamed spinach as the medium." He gives a playful smack across the young man's shoulders and continues to follow with him. As they near the back compartment, a frantic Passepartout runs out his arms flailing.
"Masters- You must not go in there." The valet insists
"Passepartout if I didn't know better, I would swear you have a lady friend in there", jests Fogg
"It is not like that, Master. She was in danger and I had to bring her somewhere." replies the servant.
A raised eyebrow is Phileas only response, as the man in the striped vest explains all that has happened while he and Rebecca were with Chatsworth.
Out of the rear compartment emerges a very different woman. Rebecca's soft blue gown fits every curve, accenting the chestnut hair piled atop her head.
"Master Phileas, this is Miss Lydia Shoeberry," Passepartout announces.
"Shoeberry?" the men reply.
"Shrewsbury actually, but Lydia will suffice", she presents a hand to Phileas.
"Not the Wellingham Grove Shrewsburys?" Fogg expounds.
"The last I'm afraid." answers Lydia, "Is that bad?"
"Absolutely and completely terrible." Grimaces Phileas, and then adds, "We're neighbours. Phileas Fogg of Shillingworth Magna at your disposal."
"Rebecca!" calls Fogg, " I believe my cousin Rebecca will be better at filling you in on the familial details. If you will excuse me"
"I admire your taste in clothing," Rebecca chides, "Our Passepartout is a better judge of fit than I thought." "I am afraid our dear Phileas, isn't much on family history. I will do as best I can."
Miss Fogg proceeds with a lengthy discussion of the history of Shillingworth Magna and Wellingham Grove. For the first time Lydia, realizes what an incredible undertaking her birthright is going to be.
The gentle light of morning fills the Aurora. The Foggs have left in pursuit of clues to the mysterious artifact. Jules ventures out to see if he can learn anything from the accident scene. Leaving Passepartout to find Lydia gently sobbing in the main compartment.
. "Why all these tears, Miss Lydia" inquires the valet, "Soon you will be at a great house with servants of your own. No more worries."
"That is just it, Jean." she whimpers," Rebecca says there will be dances and dinners. All this formality, I don't even eat like they do. Let alone dance"
The brown eyes connect with her own; he brushes the wetness from her cheek. "Passepartout will teach you to dance," he takes her hand, "Trust me. We will dance, then you will smile and forget all these silly things."
As the two glide and gently sweep across the floor, the valet's foot brushes under the cabinet and touches the staff. The glimmer passes from Passepartout to Lydia and then is gone. A horrendous crash shatters the moment, and a contingent of The Count's men burst in.
"The Fogg's have fled, and the servants are having a party." A loud voice pipes, "I am sure you will do a different dance for Count Gregory."
The valet doesn't go without a fight, but the numbers are too great. Lydia surprises him with her agility and courage. In the end they are captured, bound tightly and thrown across the horses like sacks of grain.
The ride continues, the valet feels his stomach churning and the constant thudding against his ribcage, his only thought is that Lydia is facing this as well. Outside a cave entrance, the horses stop. Cool, clamminess grips them and they are forced to descend. Illumination surprises them, but more alarming are the runes and pillars-This is not a cave but an ancient temple swallowed by the earth centuries before. The halls wind and twist like an interlocking puzzle, each piece wrapped around itself. They reach at last the heart of the structure. Guards heave them prostrate in front of a shadowy figure. Lydia's stomach convulses with the smells of oil and rotting flesh.
"This is the valet." the Count roars, "But that, is no servant." The misshapen hulk stares at the woman. Her eyes seem to call out to him, from another time. "Katerina," he sighs to himself. In his mind he is young and whole again. Smells of wildflowers permeate the long chestnut hair wrapped around his fingers. He kisses her, drinking fully of the desire they share. Her hands sweeping, touching, cradling every inch of his naked body. Soon, they are lost to rapture as he fills the gentle hollow of her being.
Bliss is interrupted with agony, as a horsewhip lashes across his back and shoulders. "Outlaws! Brigands, on my father's lands, the shame of being caught without my sword." his mind sears. He is tied fast to a tree and made to watch, as one by one the outlaws rape his poor Katerina. He fights off tears and the horrible urge to vomit. His body aches in frustration, blood runs from his bonds. For an instant it stops, they hold her broken body in front of him like a prize at a fair. Then with one sweeping stroke a knife blade slits her from chin to the sweet brown mat of hair he had so loved to caress. A red torrent gushes, he is spattered, and bathed in it, his own mouth filled with her life's force. There is the sound of horses.
The men flee leaving Gregory to be found by his father, in total humiliation.
"Lock them up for now." Gregory commands, "Once we have the staff, then we will kill the valet"
Their eyes have trouble adjusting to the total darkness. Scurrying vermin can be heard gathering offal, adding to damp putrification of odors. The woman clings tightly to the man at her side.
"Miss Lydia, I never meant for this to happen," he explains, "I only wished for you to be safe. My master will be here soon and all will be well."
"And you will fly away," she sighs, " I have what I want here. I have met the Lord of the Manor, and fallen in love with his valet."
"Pretty lady is in love with Passepartout?" he responds in disbelief.
She cradles his face and kisses him passionately. His hands explore releasing her dress trappings. Lydia's tongue races across the outside his throat, tasting and kissing with each button she releases from his shirt and vest. He clutches madly at her firm body, while he cups her breasts to his mouth. Slim feminine fingers journey clasping around the hard shaft venturing up and down, until at last he takes her fully and complete. "Hu Kadarn", she whispers.......
"Surrender Annouim's prize or your servants shall die," Phileas reads aloud. He takes in the mess and destruction that has occurred to the Aurora in his absence." Rebecca, What the devil is Annouim's prize?"
"Quite obviously, it is the artifact is that Gregory is after," she states; "though not very descriptive"
Jules walks into the room, he seems out of touch with his surroundings. "It is time," he states flatly. He glances to the cabinet, the oaken staff inlaid with mistletoe rolls out from beneath it. He grasps it and is bathed in a golden aura. "Cythrault and Karidwen beckon, I must preserve the balance."
The cousins stare blankly at each other for a moment, then are startled by Jules new found speed. They struggle to keep up with his bursting momentum. He spots the coach and commandeers it. Rebecca and Phileas barely make it inside. Unknown to them they are headed straight for the temple.
"The Fogg's are on their way, My Lord," a lackey bows and informs. "Good, consecrate the circle and bring the valet and woman to me there." The count orders.
When the door is opened Passepartout leaps at the guard like a wild- man, but is hit hard in the face with a rifle-butt. Lydia struggles to reach him; a boot connects with her chest sending her reeling against the stone wall. They are both dragged unconscious to the stone circle.
An eerie light is cast across a stone circle. Mammoth tree roots jut out in all directions, like many hands trying to grasp something in the dark. There is a circle within the circle, symbols intertwined and wrapped upon themselves, and around the circle three more symbols. Lydia finds herself chained to one of these. Count Gregory stands on another; the third is left open awaiting someone's arrival.
The valet's arms are tethered and he is surrounded on all sides. His mind races in the madness of worry and helplessness.
A lone figure enters the circle; he takes his place on the third symbol. The staff is raised, "I am Doue", he resonates. And the staff hilt touches the floor. Phileas and Rebecca watch from the outer rim trying to formulate a plan out of the anarchy that prevails. A blinding flash encircles all. A strange glow persists from not only the three in the circle but from Passepartout as well.
"I am Cythrault. Join with me Karidwen we will rule infinity", thunders what was once Gregory, now cured of all earthly affliction.
"I am Karidwen. Neither light nor dark, born of this earth, and of this earth I shall remain true." she casts her gaze towards the valet.
Cythrault grabs Karidwen breaking her bonds like daisy chains. He holds her over his head and turns toward the inner circle.
"This must not be." Doue commands. The staff sends a piercing light engulfing Passepartout.
"I am Hu Kardarn. I implore all those here. You cannot allow your mother, my wife to be engulfed into the darkness of the abyss. Join with me and fight" the voice can not be ignored.
At once all of the Count's men and Phileas as well, merge upon Cythrault. Leaving only Rebecca unaffected. She seizes the opportunity to lunge at the staff in Doue's possession.
As it breaks contact, Karidwen is knocked over to safety. Cythrault is left to face Keugant alone. Instantaneous waves of light and heat rush him with tidal force. The Count has regained his body, but is once again mutilated and disfigured. Rebecca manages to bring them all to their senses and enables them to escape with the staff.
The countryside below seems peaceful and serene as the Aurora flies over. In the main compartment Phileas questions his valet. "And if Gregory had managed to take Lydia through this "Circle of Infinity" with him, the world would have come to an end?" Fogg spouts." Really, Passepartout."
"No Master, it is true " the servant assures, "she was the Mother of the Earth and he was the Devil."
Lydia turns to Rebecca but her gaze never leaves the valet.
"Just how often do you visit Shillingworth Magna?" she asks.